Gentle Murmurs of I Love You
by angelasghost01
Summary: Melissa finally breaks after half a year and lets Tom know what she's been keeping to herself. ANGST. ONE-SHOT. TOM HIDDLESTON/READER


**A/N: My first Hiddles fanfic! It's terrible, since I don't have much experience with writing fanfiction, so please, feedback is welcome!**

Melissa's cheek warmed with the heat emitted from her laptop as the monitor radiated an obnoxious glare which, even through eyelid-shielded eyes, worsened the headache that was all too familiar to her. She opened her exhausted eyes and through her groggy vision could make out the mess that was her apartment: there was an ever-growing stack of pizza boxes beside the mahogany coffee table, tarnished garments were littered all over the sofa and armchair (fetid with a fortnight of accumulated grime and sweat), and the floor was barely visible due to the layer of rubbish and more dirty clothes.

She closed her laptop and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Melissa had pushed the limits of her ability to stay conscious once again and forced herself to work until the early hours of the morning. With her laptop closed the room was enveloped in shallow darkness, the thin blinds allowing the light of the street lights in, diluted and weak. Melissa checked her phone for the time: 3:41 a.m. It was relatively early compared to the other nights when she stumbled to bed just as the sun was making an appearance.

There was silence in the room. A taunting silence.

Over the past six months, Melissa had grown to hate the silence. She was left alone with her thoughts, fleeting across her mind. The silence was always followed by the chill that chained her to reality and made the truth of the situation slowly break the masquerade of false strength she built up for six months.

Her fleeting thoughts screamed to her louder than anyone ever has, and no-one could hear them but her.

A blunt pain invaded her abdomen, an indication that she was running low on fuel. She stood, her limbs stiff with a dull ache, and she made her way to the kitchen. Melissa fumbled for the light switch, but as quickly as she turned the light on she turned them off. Her stagnant headache began to pound and swiftly filled a glass with water. As she took a sip, Melissa opened the fridge with the hopes of finding something decent, but alas, was met with nothing.

She had forgotten to do the shopping again.

Deciding to supress the hunger cramps, Melissa downed the glass of water and poured herself a glass of whiskey. With an empty stomach, the alcohol would certainly take over her tired brain. The amber liquid felt like molten lava as it came in contact with her lips, and she swirled it around her mouth welcoming the bitter taste. She wanted nothing more than to fall in bed and let the black surround her and smother her to unconsciousness.

The amber liquid was the kiss she had been waiting half a year for.

The kiss that should have came from the man that still had enough of her heart to break her even now.

A certain English gentleman called Tom.

The pain of hunger was gone, but only to be replaced by the dragging crescendo of impact in her chest. The feeling was blunt and dull, but the juxtaposition between the numbness of her chest and the sharp pain in her head triggered by the memory of _him_ sent Melissa reaching for the whiskey bottle.

He was the fleeting thought that invaded her mind and he was the cause of her withdrawal from the things that made her feel alive.

He made her feel alive.

Melissa took a swig from the bottle, letting the liquid fire descend down her throat. The whiskey flowed freely, and soon her mouth overflowed and her lips gave way to a small amount which dripped down to her neck. It painted her alabaster skin and the aroma sent another memory running through her head. A memory of that damned man. Melissa closed her eyes as soon as she felt the familiar burn of tears and drank more whiskey, determined to mask the growing resentment she felt for herself and for him with insufficient sedation. But she was failing. She was drinking his favourite alcoholic drink, and due to this she smelled like him on nights when passion took over and she gave him everything she had.

The bottle became significantly lighter as she had reached the end of her liquid saviour. As expected, the alcohol had obscured any coherent thought and now her head swam. The kitchen slowed as she moved, and the pungent smell of whiskey fought against her drunken state as if forcing her to sober up and face her demons. Finally, she gave in to her pleading body and sank to the floor, the cold marble tiles only serving to remind her that what was happening was real.

And as the silence began to make itself known again, Melissa broke and let half a year worth of tears fall.

She let them fall for that disgrace she had become.

She let them fall for the physical pain that refused to leave her body and give her peace.

She let them fall for the mental abuse she was inflicting on herself.

But most of all, Melissa let them fall because, no matter how hard she tried (and she tried, _a lot_), she still could not pick up the pieces of herself that lay shattered on the floor by him. By Tom.

Her apartment was free of everything that was even remotely related to Tom, but mailing back his clothes and burning photographs was easier than erasing memories made over a period of five years. But yet she still ached for him. She still found herself reaching over to the other side of her bed when she yearned for his touch. On hot summer nights, she would wrap herself in a blanket and pretend it was his embrace. On cold winter nights, she would wear his old hoodie that she couldn't bear to part with and breathe in his scent. On days when the world continued to turn and function as normal, Melissa was slowly crumbling.

For what seemed like hours, Melissa lay there on the floor before making her way to her bedroom. The night was mild but her body burned due to the alcohol coursing through her veins. The lights were still turned off but Melissa knew her room well enough to navigate her way to her bed. She lay down and turned on her left, facing the empty space beside her.

Tonight was the night. February 20th. The night of the Academy Awards.

Melissa grabbed her phone from the bedside table and checked the time. 4:15 a.m. The after party would be slowly drawing to a close now, but she had no doubt he was still there, charming his way to the hearts of many of the A-Lists.

She had to do it now.

Before any rational sober thoughts fought her drunken state, she found his name in her contacts and pressed the green button.

Tom picked up on the fourth ring.

"Melissa," his voice the steady and unwavering. Her suspicions of a drunk Tom was proved wrong by the way he said her name. Normally, when under the influence, he would lose his English mannerisms and articulateness, becoming a mess of slurred words and ungraceful behaviour. "Melissa…"

"Tom, listen," Melissa was surprised at how calm she was. Despite having a whole bottle of whiskey to herself, her voice was firm. "There's something I want to tell you."

There was a pause before Tom replied. "Okay. What is it?" There was that gentleness to his voice.

"I don't know if this is going to change anything between us. I don't know how you feel or what you'll think of me when I say this, but I have to tell you because I feel like you have to know," Melissa paused for a breath before continuing. "In a few hours, the sun will rise from the east, and later will set on the west. That I know. I also know that, despite their hostile reputation, without bees, there would be no flowers or honey. I also know that humans are the only species that's worried about time keeping. We fear that we're going to run out of time, and time is a constant thing. We need something constant to fill the void in us. And I…I don't want time to be the only thing in my life that I know will stay, because either way that will escape me as well," Melissa said the words in a rush, and her fingers brushed away a tear that escaped. "I love you. I have loved you since that day you stayed with me when I was sick and you skipped your movie premiere. You're a constant thing in my life. The only constant thing. And this is crazy, stupid even, because even though we haven't seen or spoken to each other in half a year, seeing your face on TV, in movies, reading about you in magazines, fills that void. It doesn't fill it as much as I would like, but I always have the memories we made to see me through the day. I love you, Tom."

There was silence.

Something Melissa had grown to hate.

"Melissa," Tom's voice had shrunk to a whisper. "Melissa…"

"You don't have to say anything, I just wanted you to know," Melissa forced a smile, even though he could not see her. "I love you."

Again, there was silence.

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Congratulations on your win," with that, she hung up.

Melissa curled up a foetal position, on her left, and facing the window. She had finally let Tom know what she felt. Six months of contemplation had led to that. She felt liberated, now that the ball was on his court, and whatever happens now was completely up to him.

The alcohol and emotional breakdown had taken their toll and her eyes suddenly felt heavy; Melissa stifled a yawn. It could have just been the alcohol or the tiredness (or maybe both), but as she reached that state where she wasn't completely asleep but not completely awake, she could feel a pair of soft lips ghost the back of her neck. Melissa smiled, knowing what the pair of lips was trying to murmur: _I love you_.


End file.
